Halcyon Days in Arkham
by ShirobaratheFirst
Summary: A look into the sessions of Harley and the Joker left ambiguous, during their days in Arkham Asylum. Angst, drama, suspense and occasional psychotic meanderings of mad love. (RATED T FOR IMPLICATIONS OF MATURED THEMES, EVENTUAL VIOLENCE AND FATAL INSANITY.)
1. First Times a Charm

**Heyyyyooo... I have no explanation for making this one. Guess I was just in the mood for it heheh.**

 **I have been thinking about what kind of talks Harley and Joker had during their therapy sessions and... I landed on here.**

 **Supposedly I was going to make a Gorillaz collection of one shots. But I don't have any good ideas for it.. All the same, I dedicate this to vinnie2757 who has inspired me to be a better writer. (Seriously guys she is an awesome writer. Read her works.) Enjoy.**

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 **1\. First Time's a Charm**

This was insane. In all forms of logic in the universe, rational and irrational, this was by far, absolute insanity. But to the wandering thoughts of a Dr. Harleen Quinzel, slowly walking through one of the corridors of Arkham Asylum, it was befitting the current situation at hand.

She hadn't thought that a psychiatrist of her _(in-)experience_ would be assigned to what could only be Gotham's most dangerous criminal. All of her would-be colleagues kept nit-picking her that she was too young and naive for the job.

Yet here she was now, walking the halls that housed Gotham's most dangerous. They should bow down to her for accepting the offer, heck even being solely chosen amongst a myriad of others.

"Doctor."

Harleen looked up to the four guards who had escorted her. She'd been too lost in thought that she forgot they were there. "We're here, ma'am." The big guy in lead said, gesturing to the door in front of them.

There were glass windows on the door but the guards were blocking the way so she couldn't see her soon-to-be patient. Harleen adjusted the folder in her hands and gave a steely look on the guards. "Thank you gentlemen, I'll take it from here."

Moving away so she could pass through, the guards went to their places by the door for the doctor's disposal in case _anything_ happened.

Harleen only hesitated by the door for one second, before she turned the knob and flew the door open.

It's like entering a football stadium once she's inside the 'questioning room'. Stark white walls and floors that seemed too blind to withstand. The young psychiatrist manages to get her vision under control, and when it does, something more, _vibrant_ fills her view.

She's seen and heard about him in the news, read about him in the papers, even had gossip talks with some local policemen that found themselves in the psychiatric side of a case. Her mentors had always told her that one can never be prepared for their most crucial patient. And they were right.

And now, Harleen Quinzel's was about to be Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime. _**The Joker.**_

Harleen slowly made her way to the table where her patient sat, head-down seemingly lonesome. From what she saw on TV, he mostly wear fancy suits in purple shades. Seeing him in the white patients' custom attire, and with a straitjacket to boot, he looked like the lesser version of himself.

Still, even in his dull clothes, the bright, neon green of his hair still stood out in high contrast. And as Harleen moved her chair away, she could see that his skin was as pale as his clothes, and yet they held a different color altogether, just because it was _him_.

"Good morning..." She said to formally start the session.

There was no response from him as she sat down, and so she brought up the folder on the table. "I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel... From today on I will be the psychiatrist assigned to you." She said in complete greeting. Still, her patient did not move.

Seeing as he wasn't going to respond any time soon, she decided to begin with the questions. "So..." Harleen started, opening up the Joker's folder. "Some reputation you have, huh?"

The doctor made sure to keep half her attention to the patient while the other half skimmed on documents that she had already memorized. She wanted to recite all his charged crimes out loud, but she deemed it quite unprofessional, and downright rude to do such a thing.

Especially given her patient's background. The man was already locked away in an asylum. Rubbing in his face for the very reason why would be a cheap shot to his pride (and Harleen knows he has that just like everyone else does). No. This man, her patient, the Joker, he deserved to be respected. Even if it was only on the terms as either a mental patient, or criminal.

"Look, I understand if you're not gonna want to talk to me. You have no reason to, and I'm sure it would be pointless trying to give you one. But I know that I can help you... I can treat you.. I can help you be better again-"

She's interrupted by a small sound. It's similar to a choke, and she sees that her patient is now shaking, from what she could only assume, was by trying to hold in his laughter. His struggle lasts for a good 5 seconds, and Harleen, though already having mentally prepared herself for it, was driven to confusion.

"Is that how you see this, doctor?"

My God, she thought. She had never heard a voice like that before. It almost sounded like he was growling and whispering at the same time. The striking paleness and half-hidden mirth from his apathetic face shook Harleen in places she didn't quite like.

"If that's how you see what's goin' on right _he-yah_ , than you're probably more inexperienced for this job than you thought." He said, smile fading through the sentence.

His sudden statements had caught her off guard that she couldn't help asking: "Why do you say that? You don't know me, we've only gotten 3 minutes into the session."

The fact that she brought up their meeting only amused him more, and this time his smile stayed as he said: "I don't need a session to know you. I had your whole background the moment I saw your pretty face through those doors."

For reasons unknown, Harleen found her confusion slowly converting into curiosity. Trying to ignore that her patient had just (kinda) complimented her, Harleen adjusted her posture and clasped her hands together as she played along with her patient. "All right, what's my background then?"

The Joker's smile went away and he was deadly serious again. "Warm home, nice family.. Did good in school, parents were real proud of you.. Then I'm gonna guess tragedy strikes... Most likely Daddy? Pretty girls are always Daddy's little girls... And this breaks Mommy, right? And you spend the rest of you childhood hoping you'll find a way to help people in the way you couldn't help her.."

Her face must've given away something, because he spent a long while looking at her with blank, glazed eyes and a grin-less face. It felt to Harleen as if he was seeing something that she couldn't, and it made her feel vulnerable.

"And now here you are.. Fresh out of M.D. psycho school, thinking you finally got your big break because you're sitting in a room with someone who's spent long years in the streets with an uneven ratio of people to bullets...Am I right so far, _doctor_?"

It was unexpected, she'll admit. So unexpected that he probably had proof from her eyes after listening. But she had been warned. She had been warned before-hand that the Joker would try to play with her. Toy with her mind.

Undoubtedly, he was good. Amazing prowess, and he said very few. Still, Harleen was warned, and although she knew that her patient had more experience in the field of dangerous eloquence, it didn't mean that she couldn't counter with the same thing.

"Maybe.." She said when she composed herself. "Maybe you're right... But maybe you're wrong." She adjusted her glasses and she could see that the Joker hadn't expected her to shoot back. And that he was clearly impressed.

"Maybe I didn't come from a warm home and nice family... Maybe, I grew up to be a hostile adolescent, disobeying my parents at every chance I could. Maybe I grew up hating them until I decided I didn't need them anymore. That one night I took a knife and did something _really bad_."

She hadn't noticed that while she spoke, in an unusually low and raspy voice, that she had stood up from her seat and had leaned across the table. It was a questionable position to find herself in. And by God, if the guards outside could see her, they would think the worst. But it didn't seem wrong to her.

In fact.. It actually felt.. kind of _nice_.

"Maybe I'm a convicted patient here, like you, who killed a poor, helpless doctor, and took her place here with you, because I'm an obsessed fan."

Only Harleen had moved while she gave her speech. Yet, the longer she looked at their close proximity, the closer the Joker had gotten. A moment of silence passes, and then suddenly the Joker snaps.

A maddening grin breaks the apathy into his face and he proceeds to belt out in mad laughter, guttural, psychotic and contagious.

Harleen immediately plopped back down to her seat, breaking into tears while she tried to catch her breath between uncontrolled laughs. The Joker still has a mad grin plastered to his face, still silently chuckling, looking at her in glazed mirth and intoxicated excitement.

"That's it!" He said, ecstatic. "Better than the prim proprietress that walked in here earlier."

The psychologist's laughter has died out, and now she could feel her insides growing cold with anxiety despite herself. _How reckless of me!,_ she thought in self-horror. The Joker seemed to caught on this and he said: "There's no need to be embarrassed."

She looked up at him, and anxiety was mixing into curiosity again.

"You just did a full on reverse-psychology with your first mental patient. Not everyone would care to do that, or even do so effectively." He was saying, looking as if he wanted to move his hands up the table, but couldn't, given his restraints. Harleen almost felt sorry for him.

The young doctor adjusted her glasses again, feeling something uncomfortably warm seep under the folds of her clothes. "You're not a mental patient.." She said without thinking. The Joker looked at her, somehow dubious.

"And why do you say that?"

"Mental patients have delusions and psychological conditions. You're just a guy who loves to kill people and laughs while doing it." She cracked and she was laughing again.

Her laugh triggered the Joker's own more than her joke did..but he didn't want to ruin their humor by telling her that. Instead, he asked: "What did you say your name was again, hun?"

She contained her laughter again and he wanted nothing more but to make her stop doing that. Her finger came up to the side of her face as she combed a strand of golden hair over her ear. He almost didn't hear her answer because of it.

"I'm Harleen. Harleen Quinzel.."

The Joker slightly lifted his head back, letting the name sink in. "Harleen.." He repeated, comprehending what it sounded like coming from him. "What an extraordinary name!" He exclaimed, and the blush that came on her face was as obvious as the bleach white of his flesh. And all the sudden, a thought crossed his mind.

"Do your friends call you _'Harley Quinn'_?" He asked, dying and hoping to know if he would be the first to ask. He sees her face slightly fall though, so it was an uncomfortable yes.

"I.. Ugh.. I don't really have many friends.." She said, forlorn and almost ashamed.

Although he had expected to hear such a thing after seeing her expression, it was nearly impossible to contain his joy. "Well.. Harley..."

Just the sound of her new nickname told her all too well that she will be seeing more and more of this man. And that she was going to desperately want to hear him repeat that name for millions and millions of times.

"Now you do..." He grinned, because if this was how fun it was to have sessions with a psychiatrist, and more specifically, a psychiatrist like _his_ , then he supposes that it wasn't that bad getting locked up in Arkham after all.

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 **First chapter done! And this took me nearly 5 hours!**

 **Man I have to say, the Joker is absolutely hard to keep in character.. I sure do hope I did him justice.. If anyone has any points they would like me to change about him or Harley, I'm open to suggestions.**

 **Anyhoos expect more from this series.. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Round the Glock at 2 o' Clock

**First one went so well... So let's get right on to the next one!**

 **They were a bit too friendly real quick in the previous chapter, but then again that's how it happened in the original animated series.**

 **So for now, let's go slow with some (kind of) poetry, analogies and critical thinking. Enjoy.**

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 **2\. 'Round the Glock at 2 o' Clock**

She allowed him to speak freely today. And by _'freely',_ it is in the sense that _only_ the Joker is speaking, while Harleen was in the position of listening.

It was an idea that she hadn't thought of using. At least during the processes of their first psychiatric evaluations. In fact, it was meant as a last resort if the patient had proved to be uncooperative. But he did. Very agreeably, too, if Harleen had to admit.

Such a thing would be considered a phenomenon, especially given the fact that he was the Joker. This proves as well, that the young doctor had been right to believe that she was worthy to the task.

However, in regards to certain over-enthused, and quite unprofessional methods on her end, she feared that the Joker had only shown interest in their session in order to play around with her. And because this would be more than highly likely, Harleen had sought it best that her patient would be the one to discuss today, and she would only listen.

Only problem was, she was listening far too _intimately_.

The session started out by Harleen greeting him, and then he greeted her, and the next thing she knew, he started talking about his past experiences with a gun. Specifically the first one he used, which was a _**Glock**_.

"At the time when you first start to tear up the town...you can't get your hands on good equipment, being a newbie and all that.." He was saying with a rather detached attention.

"Why is that? Shouldn't someone of your caliber be able to get access on weaponry on a dime?" Harleen questioned.

The Joker gave her an odd look. "You can't get anything with just a dime, doctor Harley.."

Harleen had to bite the inside of her lips to keep herself from laughing at such an effortless joke. He noticed this and he grins. "And besides you give me too much credit. Every crook out there started out small.. Same goes for someone like me.."

His eyes went away, like they were remembering something- _in the past_ , and he cuts himself off before he could say something that he shouldn't (yet). He stays like this for a few moments and then starts up again. "But I'm wandering from the subject.."

"You know what a Glock is, don't you, doc Harley?" He asked, leaning in eagerly.

The look in his eyes made her feel like it was a trick question, so she put up what she hoped was an intellectual face and said: "Of course... A Glock is a series of polymer-framed, short recoil-operated, locked-breech semi-automatic pistols. It uses a modified Browning cam-lock system adapted from the Hi-Power firearm's locking mechanism uses a linkless, vertically tilting barrel with a rectangular breech that locks into the ejection port cut-out in the slide."

"Wrong.."

The young doctor met the disapproving stare of her patient and he said: "That's not how you describe a Glock, or any gun for that matter.."

It then hits Harleen that she shouldn't have even bothered trying to appear knowledgeable about _his_ world. It was probably just another trick to get her loose and drop her guard in their discussion again. So she sits back and patiently lets him explain.

"A Glock... Or rather, _any_ gun... Can't be explained by anyone. Posing that you can, just proves how ignorant you are."

She knows he was speaking generally, but the way he talked and was staring her down made her believe that he was referring only to her. And it was insulting.

"No one can explain it, because you won't know until you're there."

Harleen tilted her head to the sight. "Until you're where?"

The Joker, in some mixed and unconscious attempt to copy his psychiatrist, craned his neck and glazes his eyes on the table. "In that small span of time between pulling the trigger and killing someone."

A spark of interest ignited inside the female doctor. This was it, he was about to open up. She made sure to keep her hand and pen ready to take note of everything about to be said by her patient.

"The first time you hold a gun, it feels heavy..." He began and when he knew that she was listening, he decided to continue.

"It feels heavy... Like uh... a 1000 ton rock.." He paused, checked to see if she was finding it hard to believe. She doesn't. "It may sound a bit superflous, but believe me, that's how heavy it feels. Will feel, if you ever have any plans on holding one yourself." He explained anyway.

Harleen took a moment to deny that in her head. There was no way she would ever hold a gun. She was a doctor, not a soldier. Or criminal.

"Now the problem, isn't the gun being heavy..." He shook his head, lowering his gaze below his side of the table, where only he can see his leg uncontrollably thumping. "It's how long you have to carry its load.

There was an awful numbing tingle forming in the palms of his hands, and he had to grip the cloth of his straitjacket with his nails to keep the discomfort and irritation from escaping his face. "Because the load stays there until you set it free.."

"Wh-what do you mean by setting the load free?" Harleen asked after a while in complete silence.

The Joker's eyes were still down, and the image he was seeing play before his eyes from a time long lost, was far too riveting to tear away from. "You see, you don't need smarts to know how to hold a gun. You just need to know that it's not _just_ a gun you're holding."

It was about a minute and 27 seconds ago that Harleen noticed her still hand and empty paper, but all thoughts of writing, or whatever the hell it was she was supposed do with her pen and paper had been placed aside. She needed-no- _wanted_ to know what he was saying.

"What else is the gun?" She asked, and she knew that he intentionally waited for her to ask. Because now, very slowly, he lifted his head back up, in the same motion he had in their previous session. And when he locked gazes with her, he gave the answer.

"A bird of prey, Harley. A gun is a bird of prey."

He was fascinated at the surprise that unfolded in her eyes and he knew that he couldn't deny her the explanation to his analogy.

"A gun is a bird, that once you own, you are entitled to the responsibility of carrying it with you, until you set it free. It is heavy because it's afraid and fragile, clueless of its intended purpose. If you hold it too tight, you crush it in your hands, and it dies there, leaving only the regret of not being released on time. If you hold it too loose, it'll fly away, and it'll go to the closest unsuspecting person to embed itself with."

The Joker straightened himself, and further leaned forward so Harleen could hear him loud and clear.

"It's your responsibility to cradle that bird in your hands, until it's time to set it free... And once you do... Only then, will the load ever get lighter."

Harleen saw him freeze from animation and for the longest second she'd ever had to bear, he blinked in resonance to a loud bang in the distance that only he could hear, accompanied by a face that his mind had long forgotten and never really knew.

He felt his hands relax in the jacket and he unsteadily breathed through the nose in that customary intoxication that always consumed him every time he said bye bye to a bird.

"How long did it took for the load in your hands to get lighter?"

Her voice had reached him the first time, but he pretended that it hadn't because he knew it was a question worthy of her to ask twice.

"How long did it took for the load in your hands to get lighter?" She repeated, curious and only curious now. And he gave her the only answer he knew she would find as honest amongst the lies and deceit that he clouded himself with.

"I lost count."

They fall into a sullen silence, letting the words echo for as many times as it could. The Joker looks up somewhere behind Harleen and he breaks the silence by saying: "Our session's over, doctor Harley."

When she understands what he means, Harleen looked over her shoulder to the clock over-hanging the doorway. It read 2 o' clock. "Ah yes.." She practically squeaked, gathering her pen and (empty) papers.

She stood up and made for the door, and without looking back, said: "Good work today.. I'll see you tomorrow." And she was gone, hoping to be freed from the sudden, unknown constriction that had dawned on her.

The Joker was no longer able to hear those last words of hers. His thoughts were on that distant memory that he couldn't remember. The numbing in his hands were long gone, but they felt heavier than they ever were, and it pained to not know why.

As he tried to distract himself with the image of his golden, customized handguns, that he knew are being kept safe by his trusted right-hand man, only one thought crossed his mind.

"I miss that old Glock."

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 **WUZZZIINGG! Some analogy sharing-thought right there.. Wuuyyz**

 **A Glock is exactly how Harleen had described it. Thank the dearest Wikipedia for that.**

 **The analogy which Joker uses to describe a gun as a bird, is actually from the Asian movie 'So Close.' I only added the bird of prey bit to make it sound fancier. Hehe.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this! Btw thanks for the review in the last one.**


	3. Give Me a 3-Syllable Nickname

**Firstly I would like to thank Tori Quinn for those two beautiful comments. I'm not sure if I'll include those deleted scenes since they happened way after Arkham Asylum. But if the build-up on this one keeps up, I might promise another JokerxHarley fic with the deleted scenes leading up to the chemical bath scene.**

 **Secondly, if there are any requests from anyone on what they want Joker and Harley to talk about in a session, then leave it in a review and I'll make it for ya. ^_^**

 **Now, let's carry on!**

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 **3\. Give Me a 3-Syllable Nickname**

Within a week's worth of 15-30 minute-long (depending what they talked about) sessions, it would be safe to establish that a certain repertoire had bee formed between the doctor and her patient.

This pleased the higher admins of the asylum, because it would mean that they had a shot at 'redeeming' (as Harleen had put it when she reported her first week's observation) the Joker. And if such a man could be redeemed then they might be able to do the same for the others locked up within the confines of Arkham.

When she had given her assessment, Harleen was asked what type of discussions she engaged the Joker in that made him so willing to continue.

"You might not believe it...But he seems to enjoy talking about values." She had said.

She had expected the reaction thrown her way at this. Of course. Who would believe that the Joker, Clown Prince of Crime, would want to sit down with an everyday-average psychiatrist and talk about values? No one, said the admins, and Harleen thought that, too.

But the Joker surprised her on their 4th session. Where the Joker himself had suggested that they talk about the value of trust.

Imagine the thousands of thoughts that raced through the young doctor when her patient said, in an almost giddy positive tune: "Why don't we talk about trust, doctor Harley?"

Originally, her observation of him regarding values was somewhat of a guess. Given the fact that they had inconsistent topics on their first to the third day. But she knew that she had to be prepared for whatever kind of tactic he would throw at her. That's how she's managed thus far, right?

"Why would you want to talk about trust today?" She asked, wondering what reason he had behind it this time. Because he's always had reasons, she's learned. To everything he says and does, even in the limited motions he has.

"I was reminded something." He started, going right to the point. "It was, something that I had my henchmen do in one of Gotham's city banks a few years back."

Another thing's she's learned is that he was quite the nostalgic man. He always seemed to be looking back at something that he had done in the past, something either menial or important-whatever definition of important was to him- and he would connect it to their conversation.

"Were you robbing this bank?" Harleen asked.

"Heist, doc.. The right word is heist. Robbing is when you hold a small gun on a local shop owner, acting tough and taking petty cash from the register without firing a bullet. A heist is where you seize a a fancy bank whose building costed more than the money it holds, and you take everyone present, hostage."

The young doctor takes a small mental second to note that being able to compare two similar acts of crime and pointing out the differences would mean having experienced them both. Knowing the Joker, he probably has.

"And I'm gonna assume you hostaged everyone with... Machine guns?" She questioned.

The Joker inclined his head. "Sub, I think. I wasn't really there, so I wouldn't know.. But here's the thing.. The guys that I hired for that job were new. They didn't know each other and they've never worked together before.."

"You see, the problem with having guys like these is that they're always and only looking out for themselves." He began to explain. "It's that animal instinct we have, where we unconsciously see ourselves as inferior opposed to everything else. This brings fear, fear then drives irrationality, irrationality induces panic, and panic in turn forces you to seize the opportunity of eliminating anyone you think is a threat."

Understanding where he was coming from, Harleen said his next line. "And everyone is a threat.

The Joker grinned slowly, nodding and pleased. "Exactly... And if I had henchmen with these exact instincts, I thought: 'How about give them a trust exercise?'"

He then goes on into a lengthy explanation on how he arranged them to do the heist, and very specifically, ordered each one privately, to cut off the rest from the share. And of course, by cut off, this basically meant shooting each other down after their job was finished.

"Only one of them was left.. And when he handed me the money, I shot him, too."

Harleen gave a small sigh and once again, as he starts dazing, she remains quiet. When she knows that its okay to speak again, she asks: "Did you wanted them to kill each other?"

Almost instantly, the Joker's face was in a twisted snarl of denial. "No! Of course, not. No, I was trying to do them a favor. It was a test of trust. To see if, even just one of them would defy my order and trust the other to not put a bullet through their head."

He's not going to admit that he still would've shot them himself, even if they had passed the test, just for good measure. Because he had enough henchmen that were irritable to deal with as it is. He didn't need double-crossers in his lane.

"So you're saying trust is overrated?" Harleen asked.

The Joker blinked slowly, like how an onlooker of a newly exploded nuke does when the first shockwave disperses. "I'm saying there is no trust. Most of the time, the only thing we trust is ourselves after we bury a bullet in the middle man's head."

The way he spoke these words had stronger semblance of feeling other than his usual mirth and horrific silence. It almost sounded like he was talking out of hate, a feeling which Harleen has found a bit impossible to apply with him.

She already knew he was ruthless on top of being psychotic and that he had an intellectual mastery that he chose to limit in his vocabulary because he's spent it more on his murderous schemes for (what he deems as) fun in terms of process and exhibiting, and are at the same time, actually significant in terms of teaching lessons that only he knew the syllabus of. Specifically to a bat-masked vigilante.

A silence formed between the two. The patient had said what he wanted to say, and the doctor had no idea how to respond. Mostly out of fear for saying the wrong thing in the most wrong way. Because another thing she's learned about him is that he hates it when people think they're right.

He considers it rudeness beyond reason. Because in all honesty, he seemed to know mire about everything than anyone, and in absolute irony, he is the one that appears wrong, only because society had classified him as physically and psychologically unstable.

Harleen just about goes through every possible question, answer, explanation (whichever was proper to use) and finally lands on one thing she knew would be right to say.

"Can you consider me someone you trust?"

The Joker blinked and shifted in his seat as he fixated his attention back to the psychiatrist. Clearly the question caught him by surprise. It showed-even if it was brief-in his eyes. Whatever other feeling his face couldn't manipulate to show, his eyes would instead.

"Well of course I do." He said finally. "I gave you my trust the moment I started calling you 'Harley'"

Harleen is reluctant to accept this admission. It was a stretch to say that the Joker trusted someone like her. For all she knew, he was still probably toying around with her mind. And she needed to remind herself this everyday so that she wouldn't have problems telling the difference with him.

"You say that now, but do you mean it? Are you sure you're not just saying that just so I have a harder time to think you're lying to me?" She asked.

The Joker chuckled. "It's not like a have a choice in the matter here.." He looked down to his restraints, gesturing the simple fact of his inability to do anything about his situation. "And besides... You're here to help, right? That's what you said yourself when we first met."

Now it is Harleen who chuckles. It's fake, but only she knows that. She hoped at least.

"You say that like it was a memorable day for you." She said.

"Of course... But not for me.. It was memorable for you."

Harleen squinted. "How's that?"

The Joker bobbed his head and made a soundless 'ah' with his mouth. He slowly leaned forward, making the fibers of his jacket stretch against the table and said in a voice that made Harleen's skin crawl: "You met me, didn't you?"

It was nearly impossible to not laugh at this, but Harleen keeps it in by smiling. "So that's good for me?" She inquired.

"Why wouldn't it be? You got yourself a real speciman at your diaposal. And basing on the previous sessions we've had these past days, I'd say you've done a lot more than you would've ever hoped yourself."

The young doctor sighed now, complete with her shoulders slightly slumping down. It was getting harder to tell the differences between her patient's words. However she wasn't sure either if this was even the reason why she felt frustrated. "I wouldn't know about that." She said.

The Joker does another 'ah' now, and this time it has sound.

"That's your problem. You whine too much." He said bluntly.

"Excuse me?! I don't whine. What are you even say-"

"There! See?" He cut her off quickly. "You're doing it right now."

"Whenever you're at the peak of your ability to comprehend the situation, you break yourself down and stop your instincts before your can get close to the end line. And out of what? Irrationality? That's the lowest form of cowardice. It's a shame to have, especially for someone like you...isn't it, Harley?"

This was unbelievable. Within a few seconds of voicing out her very thoughts, in his voice, Harleen felt her mind clouded. Why was he always capable of saying such things? It was one thing to give a speech about life of crime, but to read her, figure out her own mundane life-and be right for God's sake-was something else entirely.

The Joker looks like he's waiting for her to answer, and she knows he is. She also knows that her stunned silence had passed the point of denying his claims, because they were true. But she can't bring herself to speak anything else either, because she knows it would be pointless, and she didn't want to prove him right anymore than she already has.

His doctor has suddenly become quiet, and he wonders for a moment if he had gone too far. He knows that there is no such thing for him as going too far. She needed to know her flaw, and how to accept it. Even if that meant breaking her down.

"Do you trust me, Harley?"

Both his tone and question alerted her shock and she met his stone-cold gaze that hid so many horrors that she still knew nothing of.

"I don't know." She answered truthfully.

"Do you trust yourself?" He asked now.

Her eyes shook slightly and her answer this time is more sure than truth. "No."

"That's why I trust you." He said now, further shocking her. "If you have no trust in yourself, then that frees you from the risk of ever coming across people who have knives for you. You're detached, like me...trust doesn't apply to people like us."

A certain thought crossed Harleen's mind and it made her laugh thoughtlessly.

"What would you do if I decided to trust you?"

The Joker's eyes shone with unexpected interest. He was positive that she has considered everything that he just said to her (she was smart like that after all) before asking, and it endeared him that she would still even dare.

"You would do that? You're willing to put yourself through that kind of torture? Because, Harley dear, it's worst than this straitjacket." He admitted. Really. It was.

"I have my reasons, I'd like to keep my own for now. And maybe because I like it better when someone tells me how much I suck at my face, rather than sucking up so they don't have to tell me."

Her patient is considering this very thoroughly, and she wonders. After a moment of watching him not blink, the Joker comes to a conclusion and says: "Give me a nickname, then."

To this, Harleen herself takes a second too long to blink. "That's it? You want a nickname?" She wonders for a moment if she should point out that 'Joker' was already a kind-of nickname. But then she drops it immediately, because clearly it wasn't (it was a title) and she would just look stupid.

"A nickname is one of the best grounds on establishing trust. I chose to trust you and started calling you Harley. I think it would be fair if you could do the same for me."

His doctor gave an obnoxious laugh, probably wondering already what she just put herself into. But he knew she would honor the request. She wasn't like his shameless

henchmen who were six-feet under now.

"Okay.. Then.. Let me think." Harleen said, thinking of a name to call he patient by.

"Come to think if it... I don't think I've even called you anything ever since we started meeting. Not by 'Joker' not even a mister or anything.."

She paused herself then repeated her words in her head. When the thought became clear, Harleen came upon a moment of satisfaction. Leaning back comfortabley in her seat, she crossed her arms and kept a smile on.

"Mista J. I'm gonna call you Mista J."

He noticed the lack of the 'R' in the end, and he was almost proud that she had the sense to play it out like that in only a few seconds. She looks boisterously arrogant right now, and he can't blame her. He gave her what she wanted, while he also took a little something that he knows will do good for him in the future.

Perhaps if she kept this up, it'll be something that'll benefit them both. And the thought pleased Mista J to an incredible extent.


	4. Us Minus 4 Is A Crowd

I **am deeply grateful to all those who are following this story and leaving reviews. They mean the world to me.**

 **Just a little trivia, when I checked to see the views this fic has gained, it has 666! Dunno, it just made me laugh.**

 **Okay.. let us continue.**

* * *

 **4\. Us Minus 4 Is A Crowd**

Either something happened or the day was just naturally suffocating. Light seemed bleak and somewhat dead as it filtered the corridors. And even though it was still early past noon, it looked as if night was coming just around the corner.

It was week 3 now, and Harleen was confident in her continuously successful meetings with the Joker.

Or Mista J rather. The thought of the name itself was comforting. Ever since their trust talk, their nicknames became the normal addressing of each other.

It was easier to talk with each other in this way. There was no worrying about positions and place. They talked how they want and whatever they wanted, they talked about.

Harleen had never been this close to a patient's mind before. And she knew that if she kept up her conversations with her patient she knew that she was well on her way to curing him.

Of course, these thoughts were all to herself. There's no way she could tell the admins about it. The last thing she needed now was the entire faculty on her case.

But aside from trying to look professional to hide her unprofessional methods from her peers, a new issue had taken stage. And it distinctly involved her patient.

"We highly advise that you take extra precaution with the criminal today, ma'am."

Harleen gave the guard a sharp look.

"The term is _'patient',_ and what development would there have even been that would risk my safety? Our discussions have been decent so far."

The guard shifted his gaze to his companions.

"He assaulted an orderly, ma'am." He said.

"Excuse me?"

"Yesterday... while they were distributing his dinner. He attacked and critically injured one of the orderlies as they were getting him out of his straitjacket."

The young doctor stopped just a couple of feet away from the meeting room, where she knew her patient was waiting.

"Why would he attack all the sudden?" She asks, because there _has_ to be a reason. She knows that there's always one with him. Even on the expense of a laugh from assaulting another.

The guard, however, looked at her like she had just said something stupid, and the words that he says next are all the more insulting.

"There's no need for a why for a criminal like him. This circus freak can kill you in a thousand ways and only laugh at your body when he's finished. So I suggest that you watch yourself with your so-called patient if you want to keep me from doing my job."

It was obvious disregard of her position, and that the burly man was only speaking out of plain prejudice over her patient. She could countermand the behaviour then and there. After all, she was one of the main psychiatrists in the asylum now. Guards (as default) would always be second to that.

But she was still a novice, still questionable. And if she even dares to try and defend her place, it would only serve to prove them right.

Bowing her head, with some dignity, the doctor made for the door, leaving the guards outside.

She caught on her patient by the table, and he greeted her as she sat down.

"I thought you weren't gonna come in today."

She fake-chuckled. "I only ran a few minutes late." She said, arranging her pen and clipboard.

"It's 4 minutes.. But that's just me." He said.

She notices him looking over by the door. There was something in his face. Written between the lines of veins and vacancy that were always under his eyes. And Harleen can't understand.

It goes on for a while, and when she realizes that he's not looking at her, she looks over her shoulder and she understands then. One of the guards was peeking through the glass.

"Ah.." She mumbles, uncertain. He's still on the door, and she can't bring herself to get his attention. So she waits-anxiously- and for a moment, she wonders if he had overheard them from outside. And what thoughts he had about it from thereon.

The Joker blinks, so slow that it's fascinating to watch, and he finally slides his gaze back to her. There's something else there now, and she can't understand again.

"What did those fake-Johnnies say to you?"

It was a half-expected question, one that he shouldn't even ask, because he obviously knew. It was always so challenging whenever he wanted her to indulge in a question he already knew the answer to.

"I was informed that you had an 'incident'." She says, careful and cautious because she doesn't know how else to put it.

He hums, low and chilling. He must be recalling the said incident himself, Harleen thinks.

"I hold no argument to that notion." He said.

"So you did?" Harleen questions and then sees the broadness of it so she adds: "Assaulted an orderly, that is?"

"Yes." Came the reply, faster than she would expect.

Harleen adjusted her glasses. "May I ask why?"

Her patient scoffed and it added to the amount of strikes to her pride.

"Why would you want to know?" He backlashes, and it ends the doctor's patience.

"Because it's my job as your doctor. I'm supposed to know everything that happens around you!"

She's standing now, and her eyes don't leave him as she rounds the table and comes to his side. She finds, however, that even though she was standing, and he was sitting down, straitjacket and all, he was still the more intimidating one. It was an envious quality of his.

"Now I can't do my job and keep you amused at the same time."

That was a hard one. She had never dawned her complete 'psychiatry' mode before. Seeing her as only that, and not as the unexpectedly verbose-shooter, was almost-almost displeasing to the Joker.

"Save me the trouble... and tell me how to help you, Mista J..."

Her face softens upon the nickname, like a sad child given an ice-cream on a rainy day. And all the Joker can do is grin helplessly for both their sakes.

"Well...let's just say that my dinner last night was a little more unsavory than usual.."

Harleen keeps her position, listening now and making sure to keep her tethers on the hold.

"You know I hate this straitjacket, right Harley?" He asks and she nods. "It's just sooo irritating.. It makes all these noises and stretches against my skin like blade taffy.."

A low growl erupts in his throat, something between anger and distaste. His eyes were on the door again and (probably not) coincidently a guard was peaking through the glass again.

"It hurts a lot more when you try to take it off."

Harleen meets his gaze which is now holding its third indescribable transformation. It's almost like watching a rose unravel on its own. Mystifying, yet at the same time horrifying to reach the point of its final petal.

"Did they hurt you?" She asks and the question is only half-finished when he speaks up.

"Roughly removing this ridiculous jacket, even as I'm giving my complaints, is quite acceptable compared to getting bashed on the brains for something as small as a shoulder ram."

As he says this, Harleen notices a brighter-than-usual spot on the side of his head. It's dark and red, easily contrasting the neon of his hair, and Harleen can already tell how long and big the cut before she puts her hand on it.

"Oh my God." She gasps and the Joker closes his eyes so she doesn't see them rolling.

"It's always good to call the Heavens in times of sorrow." He joked and laughs lazily.

But Harleen is not amused. If anything, she looked severely angry, and the Joker knows that it's not directed at him.

She doesn't question about the injury anymore. He already painted her a picture, and it would seem that she didn't take too kindly the thought of him, her patient, being mistreated by security right under the faculty's noses.

And the Joker knows that her kindness was only so very limited.

The young doctor withdrew from him and she momentarily exits the room.

"Get me a first aid kit." She orders to the guard who had been eavesdropping.

He gives her a look, condescending, and there's a hint of a smirk and laugh beneath his smug face. "Why?" He finally asks.

"Because I have a patient in their that needs medical treatment because some hospital lackey needed a punching bag."

There were murmers between the other guards, but the one in question firmed his gaze on the doctor.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The hell you don't! And unless you don't want me to report you to the high admins for your behavior, I suggest you get me that first aid kit before I free my patient from his restraints and lock you in the room with him."

It was an interesting way to get her point across. But it did the job. There was only one more second of testing gazes before the guard went off.

Harleen goes back in to her patient and the guard returns in minutes with the first aid.

His eyes slant across to the criminal, and he wishes the doctor's presence away so he could give the freak another well-deserved hit.

"That'll be all, ma'am?" The guard asks as he hands the white box to Harleen.

"Yes, thank you." She says without looking.

She pops the container open to a series of medical supplies, when she remembers something. "Could you leave me and my patient please?"

He doesn't hear it wrong and when he inquires about it, the doctor says: "Leave us... You and your men. Leave us."

"You don't mean leave our place by the door, do you?"

"So you got the idea." She says, taking a roll of bandages. "If you do, then please... Go."

"With all do respect ma'am-"

She cut him off by raising a hand.

"I think you and I both know that we've passed the point of respect. And if you don't want it to get any uglier than you've already made it to be, please see yourself and your men out."

He shuts up now, and he decided to desist before anymore of his dignity could be forsaken. He gaves a gesture of a hand to his men outside, and they reluctantly leave.

When he exits himself, he gives one last glance through the glass, and the Joker flashes him a mad grin beyond the doctor's line of sight.

"Thank God." Harleen exhaled, working on the cut on the Joker's head now, knowing they were alone now.

"Gutsy move you did back there." He said.

"I was gonna have to do it at some point. He was a real bother." She replied.

"Well.. he won't be bothering you anymore.." He says and she nods in agreement.

"Plus, we get to talk more freely now that we don't have any snoops around."

"Not that we can say the same for tomorrow." He intoned just as she finishes treating the wound on his head.

"I might have a way to fix that.."

The next day when they meet, Harleen enters the room with her head held high, and the Joker sees no guards outsise the door.

She explains that she requested the admins remove them since it would make their sessions more progressive. Whatever that would mean in his twisted sense.

"I don't suppose you can have my jacket requested to be removed, too, can you?" He asks and she laughs. Louder and more care-free than it had ever been.

"Don't push your luck, Mista J."

And he knows that he won't have to.

* * *

 **It hurts so bad to write this on my phone! My gawsh, I'm crying.**

 **Usually, I think there are first aid kits in waiting rooms (if that's what they're called) But it was more fun getting that guard to do it. Haa!**

 **Johnny reference, because Mista J misses lil Johmmy boy. *WINK***

 **Thanks for reading!**


	5. 5 Thorns Don't Mean Nothing

**_"_ Hi guys, I'm back... From Sickville no less hehe. Gotta say a week away from writing is sadder than I thought.**

 **Was gonna start this sooner, but I got hung up in eating my fill of food. Hehe**

 **Anyway, with 1K rea **ds, thanks to all by the way ^_^, let us continue****

* * *

 ** **5\. 5 Thorns Don't Mean Nothing****

He's not in their meeting room. Not sat on a chair across a table from his psychiatrist, immersed in a conversation that was inconsequential to his daily evaluation.

Instead he was in his room, lying on his bed, immersed in the nothingness of the ceiling wall.

It's not very often that the Joker finds himself in such boredom. But then again what would be expected of him if he was contained like this in an asylum.

But even so, he's always found a way to amuse himself, ranging from a memory of a crime he once committed and the thought of devising a new one. Fact he could do more now, given his arms were finally free from their bonds.

Of course, he was only allowed out of the straitjacket inside his cell. Still, this shouldn't have been enough to limit his self-entertainment. But it does, and he blames his psychiatrist for putting him in such a predicament.

 _"We won't be meeting for the next few days."_

 _The tone had been disappointed, crest-fallen, and clearly displeased at the thought of having to say it._

 _At first, he tries to think of possible reasons why such a thing would even happen. Then he contemplates for just how long 'the next few days' would even be, and he becomes too distracted with thoughts he shouldn't be having to respond to his doctor._

 _"I asked the board to give me a few days off." Harleen says to fill in for a question he didn't want to ask._

 _This admission irked something beneath the spot of the tattoo on his forehead, and there was no hiding the irritation from his face when he looked at her._

 _"Why?"_

 _He asks this with only a slight hint of a growl. He asks this without noticing the paleness of her face and dark lines under her eyes that would've otherwise disregarded his question._

 _She's distant, reluctant, and it bothers him to an irritable extent. An extent that reaches far too deep somewhere in his mind and he suddenly can't bear to look at her._

He can't say for sure if she had answered then or not, or if he had simply just purposefully unheard her out of annoyance. But he knows that his current anger (was it even anger?) was because of little MISS HARLEY.

The Joker sat up with a rake through his hair. This wasn't something he should bother himself with. Shouldn't he be mulling over the fact that Harley had finally gotten him out of his jacket? And not this over-thinking regarding her taking a few days off because why else would she disappear?

"She did look quite unpleasant in our last meeting." He was whispering to himself, staring at invisible dust and wondering how long it would take for it to gather.

But if she was in that state, then wouldn't that be her fault? Her fault... for focusing on nothing but him? That would be a bit of a stretch of the imagination, but the Joker has enough evidence to prove this point.

He may not have any other people to converse with, but that didn't mean he didn't have ears. And from what he's heard, Dr. Quinzel was assigned only to him.

 _Only to him._

So why? Why had she made him think like this and suddenly turned the tables with his own thoughts? He was convinced beyond reason that she had nothing else in her life- other than him. And now she's racked his already-damaged mind with the possibility that she had something else to give her attention to, enough to gain him her absence?!

It was all ludicrous..Ludicrous, and he had been foolish enough to fall for it.

"Point for Miss Harley.." He admitted, drawing an imaginary line in the air.

Yes. Even in his anger (yes, he was certain it was anger now) he would not fail to acknowledge his psychiatrist's impressive tactics. He had deduced her talent for such since day one, and she hasn't failed him once yet.

"What?"

This question, he asks up to the ceiling, at the far corner in front of him.

"Why are you here again?" He asks in the dead silence.

Nothing, or rather no one answers. The Joker knows how far along the cells are from one another, still, he seemed quite disappointed that no reply came.

"I am not being paranoid... I'm not.."

The 'T' cracked against his teeth and he felt the metal chip at some parts. Surely, if anyone saw him now, they would say he was paranoid. Not that he would care, though.

"She came on with that all the sudden.. How did you think I reacted."

Still, nothing spoke for him, but the Joker laughed, and he thumped the back of his head against the wall over a thought that was sure to horrify a human being.

"She made a fool out of me, though." He admits, face going blank as dead faster than a hummingbird could beat its wing.

"It's like she's playing with me..."

He was now pacing around the room, stopping at certain points on the wall whenever the silence seemed to give an answer only he heard.

"She makes me feel like I'm her top priority.. and then she disappears on a whim... And then the straitjacket.."

A rattle came from his throat and he whipped his head as if he were swatting an insect out of his ear.

"It's like I can't win with her..."

His tone changed into realisation, something that rarely came and would've delighted his dear Harley had she seen it.

"She deserves a gift..." He said with a grin to himself. "Yes...a gift for all this trouble she's causing me."

"Little miss Harley deserves it."

Several days later, when Harleen returns after her very much-deserved vacation, she finds a wrapped package on her office desk.

Taking the note in her hand, she unwrapped the gift excitedly. This however, did not equal to her disappointment at the content.

It was a rose stem. A thin green-black stem, with 5 pointing thorns and no red petals.

When Harleen reads the note over, she felt the coldness of the stem seep into her fingers, along with message that the sender wanted to relay.

 ** _"Five thorns for you. Because five thorns could mean anything... Or nothing at all_** ** _..."_**

 ** _-Sincerely, your Mista J_**

* * *

 **Yay"! New chapter for my return! Really sorry for those who've been waiting for this. Hope you loved it anyway.**

 **Who's willing to bet that Mista J got that stem from Poison Ivy? Eh? Eh?**

 **Not much to say about this, really. But the next one is gonna be fun. Thanks for reading!**


	6. After 6 Spoonfuls of Pudding

**Balalala... We've reached 1.5k reads with this fic! Clappers for all of you followers and constant readers!**

 **I was absolutely glad with the review in the last chapter.. Thank you so much, loreengrgoddess (I hope I got your name right ^_^) It means a lot.**

 **Now...time for a delicious chapter. (Not in the way you think.. Eww.. Joke :p )**

* * *

 **6\. After 6 Spoonfuls of Pudding**

"A change of setting is pretty nice."

The Joker gave his psychiatrist a curious look. That was a funny thing to say since all that's changed was that they've moved from the meeting room to the cells. It was still inside Arkham walls, so he wondered why the woman found it exciting.

"It feels a bit weird not being seated at a table with you." She says.

"Wish we could do something about that, too.." He said, very comfortable with lying down and his folded arms as his pillow. "But this glass is the only protection you have."

Harleen furrowed her brows.

"I don't need protection, Mista J... You know that."

He hums that he knows, but he wonders just how much she knows it herself.

"Well in that sense... I guess it's the only protection _I_ have from the guards shooting me." He says and quickly looks at her for the reaction.

"That won't happen.." She said consolingly. "And even if it does, I'll catch the bullets for you..."

She says this with a smile ready to break into a laugh. And she quickly does once her patient breaks into his own laugh

The Joker brought a finger to his lips.

"Shhh...They might hear us.." He warned.

Harleen mimicked his actions with a nod and even lowered her head as if trying to duck down from watchful eyes. The Joker found it absolutely amusing.

"By the way..." Harleen starts, tapping her fingers on her clipboard. " I got that little gift you sent me."

He quickly sits up at this, and Harleen had to fight for dear life to keep her face in its normal color.

"Ahh.. You did? That's good. Did you like it?" He asks eagerly with a child-like innocence.

"Well... it was definitely an extraordinary gift... Not your average box of chocolates or a boquet of roses that have no meaning."

The patient was impressed with her answer.

"But a stem with thorns, has meaning?" He asks and she nods.

"You said it yourself, Mista J. It could mean anything.."

"Or nothing at all.." He finished for her.

"With the way I sent it to you... after uh... your absence.." He pauses, lets her look back at that 'misunderstanding' and then asks: "Do you think it holds any meaning?"

God.. She had hoped so badly that he wouldn't question. Because to her, that gesture of leaving her a gift, finding the stem, thinking of a way to get it to her office (she still doesn't know how he managed that, with all the restrictions and surveillance) it meant a million things.

Never mind if the stem had no petals of any color. That thorned green stick that now lies on her nighstand where see can see it before she dreams of its sender, was the best gift she ever received. And that went with the many possiblities of its meaning that she argued with herself.

"It means that my patient is a heart-breaker."

He looked at her incredulously. Wow. He knows that he gave the stem to her with the idea that it could or could not mean anything, and that she would firmly believe that it did mean something, he never thought she would think it meant that.

Jesus. The mind this woman had.

The look on her face, and her arrogant grimace was a dangerous weapon. He needed to keep control and not give away so much.

"Oh you have no idea, dear Harley." He said in response to her answer.

She laughed again, but the Joker was starting to feel that he was standing in a critical position. Where she was the one in power. And it was not a good feeling.

"I hope the faculty didn't fuss over my gift too much." He said to distract himself from his dangerous thoughts.

"They don't know about it... "

He blinked.

"What?"

"I didn't tell them about it." She says, serious and calm.

The hits just keep coming! The Joker changed his mind. The glass was her protection. Not his. Her only protection from his nearing violent tendencies.

"Why not?" He asks, even though he knows, because he's not stupid. He knows what's starting to happen to her mind, and he knows it's his doing. But sometimes its so easy to forget the lines of the strings in your hand when the toy itself can backfire your tricks.

Harleen only smirked at him, and placed a finger over her lips again to conceal a secret. "We're not telling nobody."

Well .. That's it. He gives up. She wins this one again, and he's only grateful that he's already in his room to lie among his frustration and questioning.

He lies back down now, past caring whatever Harleen may think of it. When he's comfortable again, distracting himself with other equally horrid thibngs, it came to his attention that his psychiatrist needed another reward.

"What time is it, Harley?"

He heard her fumbling around in her seat, hoping to not fail him in this one simple question, since she's never failed in the more complicated ones.

"It's 12:51.."

The Joker hummed, remembering his untouched tray lying just outside the cell by his doctor's feet.

"Have you had lunch yet, dear Harley?" He asked, hoping to feign as much concer as he usually does.

"uh. No. Not yet, really.."

A grin came upon the Joker's face. He needed this boost so he could feel that he still had the full deck in his hands.

"There's a tray there, just by your feet.. You can help yourself with it."

Harleen couldn't hide how flattered she was at this. It was shameful and unprofessional. But she wanted nothing more but to comply for him.

"You're being too giving, Mista J." She said.

She slightly bent down, and saw the tray a few feet from her. It was purely untouched by him, but most of the food had been eaten by rats. There was only a single cup with a plastic cover on top and a small spoon lying on it.

"I'll take this.." She said as she picked it up and began to open it. A thick, brown gelatinous substance came to view from under the lid. "Oh it's pudding!" She exclaimed.

The Joker had to bite back his smile.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" She asks, even though she's already poking the susbtance with the spoon."

"No... It's all yours, Harley."

The psychiatrist let out a laugh and hurriedly took her first serving. She savoured the sweet, thick flavor and let it melt and roll inside her mouth.

The Joker watched her in interest as she ate more and more, as if proving herself to him in a way. The thought delighted him.

"Mista J?" Harleen called out. "I have a new nickname for you.."

Now he grinned. "And what would that be?"

Harleen looked down into the cup in her hands.

"Pudding..."

And the Joker could only laugh.

* * *

 **Hahaha! M so glad I made this chapter!**

 **I read in a DC fact trivia, that Harley calls the Joker 'Pudding' because he gave her a cup during Arkham. Hence this chapter!**

 **Hoped everyone loved! Next one, is something you'll never guess!**


	7. Give It 7 Hours in a Cage

**She Okayyyy people... Quickie announcement, my classes start next Tuesday, so it'll be a while until the next chapter. Hopefully I can try to make chapters in between my studies whoo.**

 **Shout-out to the 7 reviews and 2k reads this fic has gained! It's all thanks to you guys. You are awesome!**

 **Another shout-out to Murdoc Niccals of Gorillaz **who now turns 43 if m not mistaken. I love yaaaa!****

* * *

 ** **7\. Give it 7 Hours in a Cage, and the Red-Green Robin is Snuffed from its Rage.****

 **He had asked for her today.**

That's never happened before. She's always come in on her usual time and went straight to his cell (their now established meeting place) to start their discusion.

But today, the moment Harleen got to her office, there was a patient's notice on her desk, requesting her immediate presence by the Joker.

Many thoughts rushed through the doctor's mind, wondering what would have prompted her patient to _personally_ ask for her.

Certainly it wouldn't be another problem that had happened regarding an orderly, or even a prison guard. Definitely can't involve her receiving any more 'gifts' from him, because twice was far too much than he probably would've been inclined to do.

So what?

"Mista J?" Harleen called once she set foot through the cell corridors.

She's using that nickname for now, because the nickname 'pudding' would be going too far even given their months-long acquiantanceship. And what's more, there could be ears listening all over the place. Better safe than sorry.

Finally, Harleen reached her patient's cell. "Mista J?"

For some reason, the Joker's cell seemed dark even with the lights on, and the patient who resided inside seemed eager to wrap himself in that blackness.

"Oh..Harley... Thanks so much for coming on short notice."

Harleen made her way to her chair, eyes glued onto her patient with combinations of suspicion and curiosity.

"You said that you wanted to see me about something... Is there something you want to discuss?" She asked.

"Yes..." He whispered, unmoving from his place in the shadows. "There is actually...but before I start... can I ask you for something?"

"Of course." Harleen nodded.

"It would be very appreciated if what I'm about to tell you, is not written down, and doesn't leave with you after we're done." He said.

The sense of her professional duty suddenly kicked in. Though it was a bit surprising that he would ask for confidentiality even when she's already granted it to him. Only the Joker could be capable of such.

"Of course." Harleen repeated, though more sincere now.

"Thank you.." The Joker whispered, moving in his dark background. His legs were finally visible to Harleen, but the rest upwards were still hidden.

"It's a very special day today, dear Harley.." He began in a tone that told her he was smiling. "Today marks a very special anniversary for an old friend of mine."

When he breathes for a moment, Harleen doesn't ask a question. The air she breathed in was cold and haunting, and it was a sign that the Joker had something very important running through his mind, and would be very offended should he be interrupted.

"Are you familiar with the masked vigilante of Gotham, Harley?" He asked.

Since he's asking, she says: "Yes. The Batman... Gotham's savior and Nightime Hero..Yeah.. I know him."

The Joker hummed amusedly. "Your tone seems pretty rough.. Don't you like him?"

Harleen pushed up her glasses. "I don't see a masked man doing the police's job as someone I should like. Nor someone I should even personally consider as a hero."

"He done you wrong? Was he a second too late when the night scared you?" The Joker asked.

"The Batman's surfacing in Gotham is what's destroying it. He thinks that his existence is a symbol of hope for people in fear, when in truth, he creates these monsters through people he thinks he's _'saved'_ and ends up taking care of them when they start crawling about in the city."

Her patient chuckled. "Like me." He said.

The doctor immediately flushed. "Oh... not you.. I-I meant-"

The Joker, however, brushed off her statement.

"No use in denying the truth... In fact, I couldn't have said it any better."

He breathes in again, and Harleen unconsciously begins to synchronize with him.

"But despite all of that 'negativity' and controversies with lil' Batsy, I do admit that he is the most interesting adversary I've ever had." He paused. "Not to mention fun as hell." Then he laughs.

Harleen can see images she's seen on the news before as he fills her on in specific exploits he had with the Batman. She knows the story of rivalry between The Clown Prince of Crime and the Dark Knight, but the Joker was intent on enlightening her furthermore.

"In fact... it was thanks to Batsy that I'm here in the first place.." He said.

He didn't speak for a while so she said: "He caught you."

"I don't think 'caught' would be the right term for what he did to me that night." He sighed deeply which slowly rose into a small fit of laughter. "Very brutal, what he did. Just brutal.. He was lucky the public couldn't see us or he would've been a lesser hero."

There was a point there. She knew that he had a point with all this, but she couldn't see it just yet.

"He used to have a pet bird."

Harleen's face wrinkled. "Bird?"

"A red-green bird... A little chick that followed him around wherever he went."

Upon those two colors that came out from him, Harleen understood whom he was referring to. The Batman had a side-kick. A right hand man who cloaked himself in red and green which was easy to spot in the dead of the night unlike his master's. The Robin, Batman's side-kick.. Or.. used to be at least.

"Do you know what happens to a bird when you put it in a cage, Harley?" He asked now.

"It cries out." She answered.

"Yes!" He laughed. "It cries out.. It beats its wings all over the place, trying to slam against the bars.. And when it knows it can't get out, it cries out some more. Just crying and crying and crying- ** _FOR HIS BATSY MOMMY TO COME SAVE HIM!"_**

Harleen felt a cold sweat run down from under her hair as the Joker laughed on in a memory she couldn't see.

"A bird unravels itself when its denied freedom...The same thing happens to humans. And that's what I did... I caged Batsy'' little pet birdy... for 7 whole hours."

There's no laughter after this.. There's just him..breathing.. But it sounds strained now. Painfully strained, like he was enduring something.

"He wasnt the green and red hues Batsy made him to be after that...After 7 hours, locked up, no food, tortured physically and mentally, anyone would show their true colors...And it's not all beautiful and prissy like that song suggests." The Joker goes on.

The doctor hadn't realized it, but his face was almost in the (clearer) clear of his cell.

"There's only one thing you can do to a bird who's sung in a cage." He says now, standing up and slowly coming towards the glass.

"And what's that?" She asked, but was afraid of what he'll say next.

With one more step, he was finally into the light, and she understood why he kept himself in the dark corners.

He'd been clawing on his arm. The sleeve was torn and stained with blood. She doesn't know what tool he used, or where he even managed to get it, but whatever it was, it did the job. Of course, she doesn't know what job it is either, and the energy that was between them right now, prevented her from wondering about it.

"You plant him with crowbar kisses." The Joker said

Slowly, his lips went up ear to ear in a mad grin. She was probably unaware of it, but Harleen was crying. There were tears falling over her cheeks, and he grins at them. He can't tell if the tears are from fear or sympathy, but he knows they're for him. And he greedily awaits more.

"You were so happy.." Harleen cried, still unaware of her tears. In fact, she wasn't aware of anything at the moment. Just that the Joker was standing there behind a sheet of glass, bloody and high from a memory of horribly murdering a young boy... And that he was beautiful.

"Keep smiling, dear Harley.." The Joker said, drawing his bloody finger against the glass.

Harleen watched as the blood spread and dripped down. When he was finished, and a bloody smiley face was drawn, Harleen reached a hand out, and touched the glass at the exact same spot his hand was.

"For you.. always, Mista J.

* * *

 **Yeahhh! Told ya you'd love this one! We did the pudding chapter, so it was a must we did the Jason Todd incident too.**

 **Dunno much of how it really went down, but I'm sure it was bloody and with a crowbar.**

 **Title is inspired by the poem 'Inauguries of Innocence' by William Blake. First heard it from Red Dragon.. Soo beautiful.**

 **Joker's poking on the spot where the dead bird tattoo is in Suicide Squad. Coz I like the idea of him tattooing himself haha! Thanks for reading.**


	8. Save an 8-Ball Fracture

**And so classes have started. It's really fun but I can already tell that this is gonna be hard as hell.. -_-**

 **This chapter took a week I think, and the next one might take longer. Sorry for those following it, but I promise that I will pull through with this fic.**

 **BTW... I do not own these characters.. :p Just the story (Sorry.. forgot to put that in the first ones)**

 **So here we go!**

* * *

 **8\. Save an 8-Ball Fracture**

Something wasn't sitting right. It could be just her being paranoid again, after all it's what her mind regresses to whenever she comes home from work. But Harleen has come to the point where reason and paranoia barely differed from one another, and it's beyond questioning.

Her apartment was a stale and gloomy reflection of her personal life, just as how Arkham (and the Joker) was an exciting and perilous reflection of, well the _'better'_ side of her life .

She'd turned on the TV once she got to her room, muting out the sound to fill her not-so-much home with black and white shadows and silence. She didn't bother with dinner or a bath or for anything else.

Once she'd realized that she would have to wait another 8 hours to see her patient again, Harleen was tucked in bed with patient files sprawled over her sheets. Well.. just one patient's file.

Despite being given assignments on other patients in Arkham (all of which were very interesting), Harleen only drowned herself in the Joker's files. All of which she'd read over a million times now.

They were the only things that could keep her close to her Mista J whenever she went home. And not see him until the next day. Losing sight of him ruined her and she often thought of horrible scenarios that could happen to him while she wasn't there.

But tonight, as Harleen lay in her bed, cold and unmoving, staring at the rose stem the Joker gave her, a relentless tug in her gut was telling her something. She couldn't name it yet, but it was a bad seething under her skin.

 _'Keep smiling, dear Harley..."_

That's what he said. What he always wants her to do without even saying it. But at the end of the day, when she was all alone, it was impossible for her.

The lines where Harleen stood were getting horribly blurred. She needed to find her place in the cage she put herself in. Otherwise, the man that stands outside of the bars will ruin her completely.

Shifting in place, Harleen faced the TV now, finding that the show was now the late night news. She didn't have much interest at first, even contemplating turning off the machine to end her night.

 _"This just in..police are currently caught in a shoot-out with the Joker and his crew, right here in downtown Gotham.."_

Immediately Harleen sat up, staring at the TV screen before scrambling for the remote control to turn up the volume. But the phone on her nightstand suddenly blared off. Heart racing because she knew who it was, Harleen swiped the phone and jammed it to her ear.

'I'm on my way!"

* * *

This was great! It had been a while since he had the chance to let loose and rave around at night and incite havoc in his wake.

The Joker hadn't expected the orderlies to be so easily bribed and tricked. But then again, what would be expected of Gotham's finest? Stupidity, that's what.

Now, somewhere around 1-ish, in this bullet fest between the fuzz and his for-now crew, the Joker felt blessed with the gun firing off in his hand, waking up all who were unfortunate enough to have decided to sleep at this part of the city.

Some of the police who had arrived on the scene were on the ground now, bleeding and crying like a bunch of piglets who couldn't find an extra tit from their mother. More were flooding in from every direction, surrounding his group tightly.

Even the Joker knows that they would be apprehended soon. There wasn't much of a plan after sneaking out of Arkham, and they only had a limited amount of ammunition. They were gonna go down soon.

Not that it bothered him. It wasn't a problem at all. He knew that right from the start when he decided to play around with the orderlies who now stood beside him, wasting bullets. If he was looking to escape the asylum _permanently_ he trusted only Johnny Boy.

No.. He was just here to let some steam off. He was here because he needed a break from that confinig cell, and poisonous meals.. And his psychiatrist Harley.

Just the thought of her name faltered his aim a bit, sending a bullet through one of the cops' head. This seems to enrage the other officers, and the Joker was planning his head-start on ditching his would-be associates.

But a shadow from above shrouded around them.

All bullets stopped, eyes all in the sky. They were all gawking at the dark, but only the Joker knew where he was. He grinned from ear-to-ear, dropping his gun to the ground and turning around to the black figure as he landed down the scene to join them.

"Well.." The Joker started, uncontrollably exhilirated. "You sure took your damn time, Batsy.."

The bat-masked hero of Gotham stood stoffly before him, cladded in his cloak and the night. The stereotype of it all made the Joker cackle out madly.

"I thought you'd learn your lesson after last time.." The Batman said, fists readying themselves.

"I'm a bad student.." The Joker admonished, even giving a small pout. "Which is good because your pet was a bad student too."

"Don't you dare talk about Jason!"

Joker laughed, loving how the night has served him favorably. There were lots of guns and weapons scattered on the ground from his side, most of which they weren't able to use because they only needed guns against the cops. But the Joker had a specific weapon around here. Just for his dear friend.. and it was right by his feet.

He reached down and picked up the lone crowbar, cold and heavy in his dead-white hand. "Wanna see how I killed your pet?"

And that was it. The Batman lunged at him, and the Joker could only hear his mad laughter ringing in his ears as the world faded away.


	9. How Far is 9 from 11?

**DUN DUN DUNNUN! HEYYYOOOO LOOK WHO'S BACK! Only two months in this Senior High business and already my back feels like what Bane did to Batman! Oh that must make Mista J so happy!**

 **Anyways, hope ya'll have been fine and okay while I was gone and that you were able to find ither fanfics to amuse yourselves with ^_^ hope I didn't make u all wait too long.**

 **And with that, let us continue!**

* * *

 **9\. How far is 9 from 11?**

Her lip could be bleeding by now. Though no one might see it since everyone else was busy running around and trying to keep the place in order while the patients were having a loud kerfuffle in their cells from below, Harleen licked on the blood and spent the next 5 minutes contenplating how much it tasted like the pudding her patient gve her. _And speaking of..._

They had been waiting for an entire hour. That doesn't even count the 26 minutes Harleen spent in traffic to get to the asylum. And as gruelling as the waiting was, the vain torment of her imagination was all the more so.

She hadn't expected to receive a phone call that night, and from Arkham's warden no less. But seeing a quick news flash and a message that the Joker had escaped from the asylum was quick to bring Harleen to her 6 senses. The 6th, being Joker-premonition.

It was painful to think he would escape, let alone even _have_ a reason for doing so. For a moment, she thought that he enjoyed their meetings just as much as she did. And yet, he still yearned for freedom, anarchy and murder in the night. The entire world knows she should be mad. But he could run off into the night and disappear back into his original lifestyle, and Harleen would only feel worried to death, because he'd be alone, away from her and visible to the Knight.

There hadn't been any new developments since she came, and even if there were, she was afraid to know what. All she could do was stand there, shift her weight between her heels, and suck on her lower lip's blood while she waited with the warden. Waited for the Joker.

"Try not to be so obviously worried, Ms. Quinzel. It is very unprofessional." Said the warden at her side.

Had she not been so _obviously worried_ (as the ignorant ingrate said) Harleen would've talked back. But this wasn't the time or place to do it. No. She had a patient she was waiting for and it was best to drain her energy in him rather than worthless co-workers.

Suddenly, in the middle of this rambunctions half-night, the air and orderlies grew louder and more wound up. There was activity going on from outside. Immediately Harleen took a step forward, but 'something" came bursting through the doors.

She wasn't really expecting it to be 'him', because God knows that the guards would have hin tranquilized, if not shot down on sight. Still, it wasn't bad to hope, but the moment the figure camae to her full view, Harleen felt her heart swell with something very _very_ bitter.

It was the Batman that stood there in the middle of the room, with all the nurses and orderlies staring at him as if he were God himself. The way he carried himself seemed to say so, too and it heightened whatever Harleen was feeling.

Trying not to focus on him, she tries to wander her sight elsewhere, still hoping that the Joker would be lagging behind the crusader in cuffs. As shameful that would be for him, she wouldn't care. She just needed to know he was okay.

"One of your people escaped tonight.." The vigilante suddenly spoke, hoarse and low like the fearful creature criminals cowered in the face of the night.

The masked man seemed to be pulling on something from underneath his thick, black cape. He only raised it an inch to reveal what he hid there, and Harleen was the first to bolt out of her place and run across the room to the 'he' that the Batman threw on the floor.

"My God!" She cried with everything her heart had to give. Never mind the eyes that bore down on her with shock, dismay and disbelief. Harleen cried there on the floor, bleeding heart right on her sleeve as she despaired for their returned escaped patient.

The Joker looked horrible! There wasn't much blood, but he was bruised all over. The white uniform the hospital provided him was shredded all over, revealing scratches and black spots where his skin showed. He was clutching onto his left arm, probably broken because Harleen could see the dislodged 'something' there. Her hands hovered over his face, sweaty, dirtied and few cuts where blood streamed down.

He hated himself that way. It was so clear how badly he wanted to break away from her and not writhe like a helpless animal on the floor. But he couldn't do anything, and neither could she, except cry, and call out his name.

Throughout this entire exchange, the Batman stood awestruck, rooted to his spot and unable to tear his eyes from the scene. When Harleen felt the intensity of his gaze standing above everyone else's, her head snapped up, and unconsciously the Batman stepped backward.

The Joker watches this in weakened silence, and everyone else does too. A fire had come across Harleen's eyes, one that the vigilante could almost physically feel, searing through his armor. Very quickly, his darted his eyes to the nearest guards he saw, and when the guard nodded, the Batman turned on his heel and took his leave.

Just as the doors closed behind him, the guards he signaled quickly came over to Harleen. They grabbed the Joker by both arms, not even paying any heed to his horrific howls of agony. The doctor left on the floor wailed like a mother separated from her child, and her lament only grew louder.

She extended her arms in wasted effort to her patient as the guards carried him away to the darkness of this hellish asylum. It was only then that she felt the sting of her eyes and the weight of ignorance her co-workers stormed on her.

Out of everyone in the room, it was the warden's eyes she met with. He looked furious, not that she cared. Whatever everyone in that room-no, in all of Gotham-no, the whole world, even- felt, none of it could hold a candle to what she had boiling in her veins.

"Ms. Quinzel.. My office, now!"


End file.
